


can the child within my heart rise above

by wafflesofdoom



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesofdoom/pseuds/wafflesofdoom
Summary: lucas wasn't a naive person. life, it had never allowed him to be, lucas seeing the reality of the world he lived in far sooner than he probably should have.but eliott made him want to be naive.aka, a mostly canon-compliant, sort of missing scene where lucas contemplates the phone-call from lucille.





	can the child within my heart rise above

Lucas, he was young, sure, but he wasn’t naive. You didn’t – you didn’t grow up in a family like his and hold on to any sort of naivety. He was sure a therapist would have something to say about Lucas never really having a proper childhood, his childhood memories ones of him sitting by his bedroom door, listening to his parents fight, to his father calling his mother crazy, begging her to get help night after night until eventually he’d left, leaving Lucas in charge of his mother, thirteen and unsure as to how to hide from all your friends that your mum, well – that your mum was sick, but not in a broken bones, or a cancer sort of way, in the sort of way that meant her brain wasn’t wired correctly, and there wasn’t really a way of fixing it.

The point was, Lucas wasn’t a naive person. He knew how harsh a place the world was, because he’d been muddling through that harshness all on his own for years now, his mum in hospital, his dad a constant let-down, and barely ten Euro in his pocket to survive. Lucas, he knew the world wasn’t a nice, or forgiving place, and that hurt, and pain, they were around every corner, and there was no escaping it.

Lucas knew all that, he did.

But Eliott, Eliott was messing with his head.

Lucas, he – well, Eliott had hurt him, the way everyone did to Lucas, eventually, going back to his smart, gorgeous girlfriend, the kind of person Lucas couldn’t compete with. When you pushed Lucas’ fake confidence aside, ignored the way he knew exactly what to say to have girls gushing over him, the wins hollow and uncomfortable, he was still just a sixteen-year-old boy, painfully confused, and uncomfortable, and very much in the closet.

How could – how could any of that compete with Lucille, the person who’d know Eliott, and loved him, and supported him in ways that Lucas didn’t even really understand yet, completely new to the world of relationships, of _love_.

Lucas didn’t feel like he could compete with Lucille, but apparently, he didn’t have to.

If he closed his eyes, Lucas was back in the foyer, the cold wetness of the paint sticking to his bare skin, Eliott’s lips on his, the memory of the drag of Eliott’s teeth against the sensitive skin of Lucas’ neck so visceral, so real, Lucas could have sworn Eliott was standing behind him, bracketing Lucas’ smaller frame against the kitchen counter, his clever mouth making marks on Lucas’ pale body.

Lucas didn’t have to compete with Lucille because Eliott wanted him, inexperience, insecurity and all.

Though, Lucas supposed, Eliott didn’t really know all about how Lucas was waiting for the other shoe to drop, ready for the picture-perfect world Eliott was building around them to crumble in, and crush every bit of hope, of happiness, right out of Lucas’ body.

It was too good to be true.

But it was true, it was. Lucas was getting used to the unfamiliar weight of Eliott in his bed, body warm, long arms and legs wrapped tightly around Lucas as his heart thundered out of his chest, wondering if he was ever going to get used to this, if he was ever going to be able to sleep next to Eliott like it was normal, like it wasn’t the most crazy, unexpected, incredible part of Lucas’ life.

Slowly, Lucas was getting used to the way Eliott would reach for his hand, fingers tangled in Lucas’ in a way he vaguely remembered his mum doing, back before she was sick, back before everything went to shit, Lucas four, or maybe five, Paris feeling bigger than the whole entire universe.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way his whole body seemed to be set alight when Eliott kissed him. Lucas would presume he was dying, if he didn’t know better, because every time Eliott kissed him, it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, Lucas’ head in a total spin as Eliott pulled back, leaving Lucas feeling dumb, and maybe (just maybe) completely, head over heels in love with this boy he barely knew.

It was true, he hardly knew Eliott. He knew the important things, like what Eliott thought about parallel universes, and he knew Eliott liked dubstep, and Lucas knew he was an artist, in every sense of the word, turning every moment of the short time they’d spent together into something that felt film worthy.

But Lucas didn’t know why Eliott had failed his exams – or why he’d transferred schools, just to resit them.

And he didn’t know why Lucille was calling him.

Lucille’s number felt like it was flashing in bright, neon lights as Lucas looked down at his phone, the two missed calls he’d had for him glaring red compared to the rest of his call history. Lucas – he wasn’t sure he was buying Eliott’s jealous, possessive ex-girlfriend excuse, because Lucille had seemed cool, those times he’d met her.

(Other than the time he’d had her tongue down Eliott’s throat while Lucas had watched, fresh out of the closet and terrified, having given his heart to someone who clearly didn’t care – but then again, he supposed, Eliott had been her boyfriend first.)

Something was wrong.

Lucas knew there was something wrong.

Everything with Eliott, it had been magical, since that night in the foyer. Too magical, considering the two weeks that had unfolded it before it, Lucas cycling through a kind of heartbreak he’d been so sure he would never recover from, crying until there wasn’t a single tear left in his body, and then crying some more, Eliott, combined with the sheer terror of crawling out of the closet when you weren’t ready to, making Lucas feel like the world had collapsed in.

He wasn’t over that, but when he’d kissed Eliott, he’d felt like he could be, the older boy pinning Lucas to the wall and kissing him like it was the sole reason he’d been put on this Earth, Eliott’s lips, and hands, and every other inch of bare skin against Lucas’ own the promise of more, the promise of happiness, every kiss wiping away another fear Lucas had about being out, about being gay, about being proud of it.

(How could he be anything except proud, calling someone like Eliott **_his_**?)

Still, it was papering over the cracks. Lucas had spent years watching his parents doing the same thing, papering over the cracks in a marriage that was beyond saving, papering over the cracks of a relationship neither person should have ever been in, if either of them had been thinking clearly, all those years ago.

Lucas was smart, and he was self-aware, and he was as far from naive as you could get, at sixteen.

But –

“Lucas?” Eliott’s voice was soft, and sleepy, his tall frame slouched against the doorway of the kitchen, hair more of a mess than usual, quite a feat, given the near-electrocuted look Eliott seemed to favour. “Are you okay? Come back to bed.”

Looking down at his phone one more time, the name Lucille screaming back at him, pleading with the logical side of his brain to call her back, to see what as wrong, Lucas locked the screen, slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie.

“You were snoring,” Lucas said simply, his tone teasing. “It woke me up.”

“That is absolutely untrue, I don’t snore,” Eliott protested, his brow furrowing. “And even if I did, I put up with you being an annoying octopus in bed, so fair is fair.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, pinching the bare skin of Eliott’s hip, before he leaned in to kiss him, barely catching the corner of Eliott’s mouth, their embrace sleep slow and uncoordinated, the clock ticking over to 2:30am behind them. “Let’s sleep,” he said softly, letting Eliott tug him back to bed.

Lucas wasn’t a naive person.

But he could pretend he was, for a little while longer, at least.


End file.
